Deepest within the underground palace, stone coffins lay scattered everywhere, stretching endlessly into the distance.
Myriad dream realms unfolded gently.
“You must entrust yourselves to each other without reservation. You will be the lone spark of light amid the dark cataclysm…” Shuhu’s voice echoed through the dream realm.
“Xiao Kun—!” Xiang Xian shouted into the gale.
“I’ve got you.” Xiao Kun’s strong voice rang in his ear.
The Floating Island shattered, the massive Golden Wheel disintegrating and streaking golden light toward every corner of the Shenzhou Great Land.
“Xiang Xian.” Xiao Kun held Xiang Xian as the Golden Dragon carried them from the Floating Island, soaring through rolling golden clouds toward the earth’s horizon.
Xiang Xian stared at Xiao Kun’s chest, where a bloody hole had appeared—right where his heart should have been.
“This is the only thing I can give you,” Xiao Kun whispered in his ear as he held him. “Now, you know my heart.”
His voice grew fainter until he slumped over Xiang Xian, blood soaking them both. In Xiang Xian’s chest, Xiao Kun’s heart pounded fiercely.
Xiao Kun’s final words were, “You… must… forget me. Promise me… don’t remember anymore.”
The Golden Dragon swept over the Shenzhou Great Land. Tears surged wildly from Xiang Xian’s eyes as he roared, “No! Xiao Kun! No! Come back!”
The Golden Dragon smashed through the dream realm. In that instant, Xiang Xian awoke.
Tears still streaked his face. He sat up instinctively and found himself lying in a stone coffin.
“Xiao Kun?” Xiang Xian murmured, his first thought being to confirm his safety.
Neither Hulü Guang nor Xiao Kun was there. He couldn’t find the Wisdom Sword, and A Huang was absent.
He rose from the stone coffin and realized he was in a vast underground necropolis—a bizarre sight, like a palace parade ground filled with sealed stone coffins. Looking back, the rows stretched endlessly, numbering in the tens of thousands, neatly arranged.
Phosphorescent will-o’-wisps drifted in the air. Without the coffins, the place might have resembled the Immortal Realm.
Xiang Xian stepped out from his spot and faced a flight of stairs. At the top, shrouded in black mist.
“Slept well?” a voice asked.
“Who’s there?” Xiang Xian said immediately.
“Come up,” the voice said coldly.
Xiang Xian ascended the stairs, noticing black qi coiling around his wrists and ankles, forming shackles—likely a restraining magic treasure. He glanced at them once and paid no further mind.
At the top stood a throne, upon which a black demon person lounged lazily.
Xiang Xian knew he had fallen into enemy hands. Judging by the situation, at least Xiao Kun and Hulü Guang had escaped.
“Another one,” Xiang Xian said, recognizing him from his last memories—the demon person general who had led the War Dead Corpse Ghost army and charged into the canyon at the final moment. “I didn’t get a chance to ask your name?”
In mere breaths, Xiang Xian assessed the situation and calmed considerably.
“You can call me ‘Mr. Liu’,” the demon person replied.
Xiang Xian said, “Mm. You can call me ‘Mr. Xiang’ too.”
Demon person: “With your cultivation base, you’re not worthy of ‘Mr.'”
“Then call me Xiang or whatever you like,” Xiang Xian said without a hint of politeness. He looked around. “Not even a chair? Is this how you treat guests?”
With that, Xiang Xian sat on the stairs, back to Mr. Liu. He observed the stone coffins in the hall, estimating their number, while removing his boots to shake out the sand inside.
Mr. Liu’s voice brimmed with authority. “Such arrogance. Do you know who I am?”
“No idea,” Xiang Xian said. “Please enlighten me, sir. And state your demands while you’re at it.”
Mr. Liu: “Human exorcists truly grow weaker with each generation.”
Xiang Xian: “Got anything to drink? Wine?”
Mr. Liu flew into a rage. “Silence!”
Xiang Xian: “If not, just say so. No need to blow up.”
Xiang Xian smiled at Mr. Liu and added, “I’m really thirsty.”
Mr. Liu made a gesture, and War Dead Corpse Ghosts hurried forward to seize Xiang Xian.
“Let him drink his fill first,” Mr. Liu ordered.
“Wait… hey!” Xiang Xian, ever adaptable, began pleading. But Mr. Liu wasn’t fooled. His subordinates dragged Xiang Xian away and dunked him into a shallow pool in the corner of the palace. Xiang Xian pretended to struggle fiercely, choking on water, and noted another key detail: there was a waterway here.
A waterway meant it still connected to the outside world.
Xiang Xian simply dunked his head in and played dead.
The War Dead Corpse Ghosts dragged him out and brought him back to the stairs.
“Drunk enough?” Mr. Liu asked.
Xiang Xian nodded, coughed a few times, and finally caught his breath. He said, “Give me something to eat first.”
“There is none,” Mr. Liu said coldly. “You won’t need to eat much longer.”
Xiang Xian realized the implication behind Mr. Liu’s words. Soon, he would transform him into a War Dead Corpse Ghost.
Xiang Xian said, “Turning me into a Corpse Ghost won’t be easy. You know I’m a Pure Yang Body.”
Mr. Liu replied, “I don’t know that.”
Xiang Xian said, “What if it fails and you turn me into something that’s neither human nor ghost? Wouldn’t that trouble your conscience, sir? Why not let me eat something before I go on my way?”
Mr. Liu was utterly at a loss with this man, who kept prattling on and arguing endlessly, making him forget what he had meant to say.
“There is none,” Mr. Liu said coldly.
Xiang Xian asked, “Where’s my Qiankun Bag? It has plenty of rations inside.”
Mr. Liu made a gesture, and a War Dead Corpse Ghost fetched the Qiankun Bag. Xiang Xian rummaged through it and pulled out the steamed buns given to him by the people of Chang’an. Over a month had passed, and many had grown moldy.
“These can go to your brothers,” Xiang Xian said. “They look like they’re molding too. Pairing them with these moldy buns would provide just the right nutrients.”
Mr. Liu roared in anger, “Shut your mouth!”
